


Honestly an Accident

by cptnfrddy



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:24:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptnfrddy/pseuds/cptnfrddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter keeps trying to say it was an accident, but no one will listen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honestly an Accident

"Are you seriously still mad about this?" Peter asked. The figure sitting on the chair before him simply gave Peter a disdainful look before turning his head away.

Peter sighed and looked to El for support. El placed a plate of fresh home baked chocolate cookies on the table. The ones she always made when someone was sick, injured, or upset. They were Peter's favorites and one had been forcibly removed from his hand in the kitchen only five minutes prior. Apparently, Peter was not allowed to have one until he made nice. 

Of course she would take HIS side.

El raised a single eyebrow, tilting her head towards the chair and giving him a significant look. Silently telling him to try again. 

Peter had to force himself not to roll his eyes. "It was an accident," he repeated for the hundredth time since the ‘incident’. "I didn't do it on purpose."

There was only silence as Peter was once again ignored. 

This time Peter did roll his eyes. El glared and moved the plate of cookies further away from him.

"You have to apologize," Neal declared, taking the cookie El offered him. Peter narrowed his eyes as the younger man took a bite and then gave him a smug smirk the moment El turned her back.

"No," Peter growled. "I am not apologizing because it was not my fault." He turned to El. "He was in the way. How is it.."

She cut him off with a curt shake of her head. "Apologize," she commanded, "or you don't get a cookie."

"I'm sorry," he gritted out through clenched teeth. 

Neal gave him a petulant pout. "Say it like you mean it."

"Shut up, Neal," he responded, leaning down to get a cookie. El, once again slapped his hand away. "What?" Peter looked at her, confused. "Oh, come on. I apologized, El," he complained. 

Not whined.

Complained.

El, though, merely crossed her arms and stared at him.

Peter released a slow breath, and turned back towards the chair. "Fine," he cleared his throat, "I truly, sincerely, genuinely apologize for stepping on you. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me." 

"Happy?" he asked El, inching his hand back towards the cookies. She rolled her eyes, laughing, and pushed the plate towards him before walking back into the kitchen.

Neal sighed. "I guess so," he lifted his arm from under the large blanket El had draped over him when he had first laid down on the couch and turned his palm up. Satchmo bounded from his refuge on the chair and stood beside the couch, excitedly licking Neal's outstretched hand. "But only time will tell if his tail will ever truly recover."

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Peter responded, watching carefully that the dog did not attempt to jump up onto the couch. Last thing they needed was to have to take Neal back to the hospital because of broken stitches. "But if you're truly worried, next time I won't be so generous and bring you your meds. Which by the way," he trailed off, momentarily searching for and then quickly locating the two pills he had dropped on the table when he accidentally stepped on Satchmo's tail and caused the dog to whine and sulk for the next ten minutes. 

Peter placed the pills into one of Neal’s hands and a half filled glass of water in the other. He made sure Neal swallowed them both and then took the glass back before it slipped out of Neal's slightly trembling grasp.

Neal nodded his thanks, before returning his attention to petting Satchmo.

"I am sorry," Peter said. "Not for the dog... Well, partially for the dog," he amended at Neal's look. "But mostly for you. I shouldn't have put you in such a dangerous position." Peter's gaze dropped to where the blanket was covering the stitched up knife wound right above Neal's hip. 

Neal had been undercover at a bar talking to a man they suspected of robbing a string of art galleries. He had just stood to get him and their mark another round of drinks, as planned, when he was attacked. The man, who they later learned had planned to kill the bartender for cheating him out of ten grand, mistook Neal for one of the bartender's accomplices and stabbed him.

It was unexpected, having nothing to do with Neal or their case, and Peter had no time to stop it. Despite the fact that he and three other agents had been sitting in a van right outside the whole time.

"It's not your fault," Neal murmured, dragging Peter from his guilty musings. The pills were obviously already beginning to kick in as he blinked tiredly up at Peter. "It’s my job," he slurred.

Peter sighed and shook his head. "Your job was never supposed to include getting hurt," he reminded him. Neal hummed at that, but his eyes had already slipped shut and his breathing soon evened out.

“It will never happen again,” Peter promised, rearranging Neal's limp arm so it was back under the covers. Then he sat down on the unoccupied chair with the plate of cookies in his lap. He watched as Satchmo yawned and curled up next to the couch.

Satchmo gazed up at Peter from his relaxed position on the floor. "I guess you want to sit here for awhile too, huh, boy?" he asked the dog. Satchmo wagged his tail lazily when he heard Peter speaking and closed his eyes. "Alright, I'll take first watch," he murmured fondly, "you big faker."


End file.
